Crocodile
by sincerelymendacious
Summary: Raz's little sister was an annoying, spoiled, know-it all brat ninety-five percent of the time. But every now and then she'd throw him a bone and help him out.


The knife sailed through the air and hit the large wooden target board with a loud 'thok'. It had landed far from the center, closer to the outer edge than its thrower had expected. Raz narrowed his eyes, not happy at all with the result, though he guessed that he should've been glad the knife had hit the board and not the window of the caravan behind it. Gabi was inside- these were his knives, and he was supposed to be practicing for tomorrow's performance. Gabi had decided that taking a nap would be a better use of his time while everyone else was unloading the caravans. Since he had no arms, he was of little use for this chore, and was thus able to do as he pleased while the others were distracted with work.

Raz's arms worked just fine, and he was, technically, supposed to be helping his older siblings. And he had! He'd taken more boxes and cases and crates down in thirty minutes than both Frazie and Dion had combined. He'd accomplished this feat by using his telekinesis (when nobody was paying attention to him, of course) to take down the boxes two, maybe three at a time. Satisfied with a job well done, he'd walked off, with the intention of reading the latest issue of True Psychic Tales until everyone else had caught up.

And then he'd passed by Gabi's caravan and spotted the knives that he'd just carelessly left out in the open.

And then Raz had had an Idea.

Dad had strictly forbidden Raz and his younger siblings from touching Gabi's knives. But Raz wasn't disobeying! His hands were not physically picking these knives up and throwing them at the target board (and ew, why would he want to? Gabi used his bare feet to throw those knives).

He was quickly realizing that while knocking boxes off of a caravan was easily done, the more precise action of telekinetically aiming and throwing a knife required a bit more finesse. That was alright. Raz knew that nobody could master something in a day, and he was more than willing to work hard and hone his skills. Although, he'd have to do it in secret-anytime his father caught him using his powers he'd immediately force him onto the trapeze or the tight rope, running him through the same rigorous routine he'd done thousands of times before.

Raz didn't know how much longer how much longer he had before Gabi woke up or someone came looking for him, so he figured that he'd better make the most of what little time he had for himself. He looked around the developing circus site. Most, including his older brother and sister, were still unloading, though some were in the early stages of setting up food stalls and prize booths. He couldn't see Mom, Dad, Queepie or Mirtala anywhere, but Dad was probably overseeing the animals, and the rest may have been putting the finishing touches on the new costumes. The coast was as clear as it could possibly be. Touching two fingers to his forehead, Raz focused, concentrating on one of the knives lying on the small table next to him.

The knife rose, slow and steady, and Raz moved it in front of him, careful not to move too fast lest he lose control and fling it away. The knife, floating in mid-air, still appeared a bit shaky, so Raz held his left arm out, the action somehow stabilizing the object. Raz had read an article about hand/psi coordination in a tattered old copy of Psi-Witness, which had helped him improve his telekinesis enough so that he could reliably pick up objects for small periods of time. Unfortunately, half of the article had been illegible (not surprising, given that Raz had found it in the trash), so there hadn't been any tips on how to utilize an object once he had it within his psychic grasp. Raz aimed, gathering his energy, and then propelled the knife at the board, a small silver streak cutting through the air. This knife also landed far from the bright red dot in the center of the board, sticking out two inches above the other one on the far right side, in the outer ring. Undeterred, Raz picked up another knife.

"Why are you doing that?"

Raz jumped, barely biting back a shriek. The knife fell, clattering off the table and onto the dirt. Raz scowled at the intruder, who looked back at him sweetly, her hands clasped behind her back. "Don't sneak up on me like that," he grumbled as he picked the fallen knife back up off the ground.

Mirtala blinked at him, her large dark eyes full of innocence. "I didn't sneak up on you," she protested, pretending to be shocked that her brother would ever accuse her of such a thing.

"Yes you did! You know you did!"

"No I didn't," she insisted self-righteously. "I walked over to you like I would normally do." Her gaze briefly shifted to the knife floating in the air, unfazed by her brother's supernatural abilities. "You just didn't notice me. Just because you didn't hear me come up doesn't mean I was sneaking."

Raz rolled his eyes, knowing better than to argue about this with his sister, who would defend her honor to the death if she needed to. "Whatever," he muttered. "Isn't it obvious? I'm throwing knives." He brought the knife back into position in front of him.

"It is obvious." Mirtala walked closer to the table, her pink flats almost soundless on the dirt. "I didn't ask you what you were doing. I asked you why you were doing it."

Ignoring Mirtala when she was being a nosy smart mouth rarely worked, but Raz was going to try anyway. Sasha Nein wouldn't have let a brat like his sister break his concentration, and he definitely wouldn't have let her sneak up on him (and yes, his sister had been sneaking, no matter what she said). He steadied the knife again, judging the distance between himself and the target board. If the previous knife had gone too far to the right, than perhaps he should try to aim more to the left…

"Gah!" The knife fell once again to the ground as Raz slapped his sister's hand away from his ear. "What the heck?" he yelled, angry at both his sister for pinching his ear and at himself for not seeing it coming. He should've known better than to turn his back on her- when Mirtala wanted attention she would stop at nothing to get it.

"Why are you doing that?" Mirtala put her hands on her hips, not at all threatened by her older brother's ire.

"Why do you care why?" Raz countered, completely exasperated.

"Because I wanna know why you're doing something that's gonna get you a week's worth of clean-up duty when you get caught."

Raz crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not gonna get caught."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not!"

"Yes you are. You always get caught."

"I do not always get caught."

"Yes you do."

"No I- ugh!" This was pointless. It would probably be easier on him if he just answered her question. "I'm throwing knives because I need to work on my accuracy. When I'm a Psychonaut, I'm gonna need to have good marksmanship." Once again, he picked the knife back up from the ground. "Sasha Nein can hit a guy from 100 meters away. Because he's got super focus."

Mirtala nodded, her curiosity appeased. "He can throw a knife that far?"

"Um…no, he uses psi-blasts." Raz rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I don't know how to do that yet," he confessed.

"You'll figure it out eventually," Mirtala said, and it was honestly nice to hear her say that with such surety. Mirtala might be an annoying, sneaking, know-it-all brat that made him want to tear his hair out most of the time, but she never mocked him for his dreams or discouraged him from learning more about his abilities. He didn't know why- if anyone was going to make fun of his admittedly far-fetched dreams it would be her, since she made fun of him for literally everything else. Even if he didn't quite understand why, he still appreciated it, simply because she was the only one in his family who didn't want him to pretend he wasn't psychic. Frazie and Dion were wary and disapproving, Queepie was too young to really get it, and Mom, though he loved her with all his heart, clearly feared for his safety and her worry was so obvious that Raz was reluctant to use his powers in her presence. And Dad…

If Dad saw what he was up to right now, he'd make him clean the elephant stalls for a month, and he'd also probably create an even more difficult acrobatics routine specifically for Raz, perhaps in the hope that Raz would slip and fall-

Mirtala's high pitched voice cut into his increasingly dark thoughts. "I like Milla better than Sasha," she stated, though not in a challenging way. Her finger traced the base of one the knives on the table.

Raz smiled. Though Sasha Nein was one-hundred percent his favorite Psychonaut, Milla Vodello was a very close second. "Yeah, she's great." His eyes lit up. "In the last issue of True Psychic Tales she chased down a helicopter! She was hundreds of feet in the air and she just blasted the propeller right off!"

"She's so pretty," Mirtala sighed, and Raz rolled his eyes. Agent Vodello was pretty, that was true, but did something like that really matter when she was the best levitator in the world?

"I love her hair. It's so long." She played with one of her short pigtails absently. "She's got these pink platform heels that have real diamonds embedded in them. They're so cute."

"What issue did she wear those in?" Raz asked. Milla's shoes weren't something he paid much attention to, being more interested in her incredible psychic feats.

"She didn't wear them in the comic, dummy. She wore them to the premiere _of Dance Before Death_. I saw it in Starz Daily." Then, almost as an afterthought, she added "She's a lesbian, you know."

Raz didn't know what a lesbian was. "You don't know what a lesbian is," he said accusingly.

"Yes I do. It's when a girl wants a girlfriend instead of boyfriend," Mirtala explained, smug that she knew something he obviously didn't. "I know she is because she went to the premiere with Anaïs Laurent, and Anaïs Laurent only takes ladies to award shows and parties."

Was Anaïs Laurent that big-shot director? Or was she a fashion designer? Mirtala had talked about her before but Raz could only remember her name because she dressed kind of like Sasha Nein. "So what if Milla has a girlfriend? She's the Mental Minx." Raz turned back towards the target board. "She could have five girlfriends and it wouldn't change how cool she is."

"I never said it would. I was just telling you what I know."

That was something that Mirtala often did. Hoping that she'd let him practice now that she had the answer that she wanted, Raz directed all of his mental energy at the knife in his telekinetic grasp. This knife landed much closer to the center of the board than the others had- still a bit too far to the right, but within the inner ring instead of on the outer edges. Progress!

"That's pretty good! You're getting better!" Mirtala said, sounding genuinely proud of him.

"Thanks!" He turned back to face is his sister, and his smile immediately fell off of his face like one of the knives plummeting to the ground. "What are you doing?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Mirtala's arms were spread out as she stood on one foot, her right leg lifted straight out in front of her. The wooden base of one of the throwing knives was balanced perfectly on the toe of her flat. The blade, pointing skyward, suddenly appeared much sharper than it had just a minute ago. She must've picked it up while his back was turned, and he'd been concentrating too hard on his own task to hear it.

"Knock it off!" he ordered, doing his best to imitate how Dion sounded anytime he caught one of his younger siblings doing something foolish.

Unfortunately, Dion's scoldings rarely fazed Mirtala, and Raz's impersonation had no effect. "Why?" she asked. Her balancing act didn't fatigue her in the least, the years of acrobatics training giving her high endurance.

"Because that's dangerous!" Should he try to take the knife from her? He could just grab the knife right off of her foot with telekinesis but what if she moved suddenly? What if he lost his grip and dropped it? If she got hurt he'd never forgive himself. "You shouldn't play with knives like that!"

Mirtala stared at him with blank innocence, the way she did whenever she questioned anybody's authority. "How come it's okay for you to play with knives, but not me?" She asked this in a calm, reasonable manner-she was rarely emotional during arguments like these, preferring to wear down her opponents with endless 'whys' and 'how comes'. Irritating as it was, Raz had to admit it was an effective technique, although he doubted it would work half as well for him if he tried to adopt it.

"It's okay for me because…I'm not touching them?" Mirtala scoffed in response to this, so Raz attempted a different approach. "I'm your older brother, so you-"

"Only by a year. And that's only physically."

Bafflement overtook Raz's growing concern for his sister's safety. "What the heck does that mean?"

"Mentally I am way more mature than you," she explained condescendingly, as though this statement was a fact as obvious as the sky's color.

"You are not!"

"Yes I am."

"No, you aren't!"

"Yes I am. Girls mature faster than boys."

"Maybe some girls do, but not ones who wear crowns in public."

"Queens wear crowns."

"Not ones made out of plastic."

Pure fury flashed in Mirtala's eyes, and Raz couldn't help but feel triumphant for finally getting one over on her. The triumph was short-lived however, as for one brief, horrifying second, the knife on her foot teetered forward, toward Mirtala's body. She quickly put the knife back into a safe position but it didn't ease Raz's panic. "Mirtala, please," he pleaded, all pretense of authority shed. "Just put it down. Please?"

Sometimes, when an argument got too intense, and her opponent became legitimately distressed instead of simply annoyed, Mirtala would pull back and concede, even when it looked like victory was within her grasp. Unfortunately, she didn't seem to think that Raz was at this point yet. "Do you think," she pondered slyly, "that I could kick this knife up and switch feet? That would be a pretty cool act."

Anxiety pooled in the pit of Raz's stomach. She wasn't serious, was she? "Mirtala…"

"It'd be kinda like hacky-sack. Kind of."

Yeah it would, except with a much greater chance of being stabbed in the foot. Raz had to act. With lightning speed that he hadn't known that he possessed, Raz telekinetically grabbed the knife right off of Mirtala's foot and hurled it away. The knife sliced through the air, faster and more powerfully than the previous ones. It missed the target board completely, shattering the window next to it and landing loudly in the wall just above Gabi's bed.

For a moment, there was silence. All work going on in the circus ceased. Mirtala put her foot down, eyes wide and mouth dropping open. Raz was frozen in his spot, the knowledge that he'd Gone and Done It immobilizing his limbs.

From within the caravan, Gabi cursed.

* * *

"Who is responsible for this?"

Raz thought that the question, asked in a calm but disapproving tone, was a bit pointless. It was obvious who had done it. How could Mirtala, though physically stronger than most nine year old girls, throw a knife with enough force to break through a window from thirty feet away? Raz could only read minds every once in a while, but he didn't have to in order to know what his father thought of him. When Dad asked 'who's responsible for this' he actually meant 'fess up boy, I know it was you'.

He and Mirtala were standing side by side, neither of them able to meet their father's stern, frowning face. He always seemed much taller whenever he was glaring down at them, the scars on his forehead more vivid, his dark eyes near pitch black, his hair and beard wilder. Raz had been on the other end of this glare many times, and it still never failed to instill a strong sense of impending doom within him. Mirtala was facing forward, her gaze focused on some undefined point just past their mother, who was standing next to their father, Queepie close at her side. She wasn't happy either, her disappointed frown being evidence of that, and she certainly wouldn't come to Raz's defense, but her presence was still a comfort. She didn't like Raz using his powers- she had a fear for her son that went beyond his supernatural abilities, a fear that Raz did not quite understand- but she was also the first one to step in if she felt that Dad was being too hard on him. That threshold was high, but it was still nice to know that there was somebody there stopping his father from working him to death.

His older siblings were there too, waiting to see him get punished. Frazie was biting her nails and Dion was a less intense mirror of their father. Five-year old Queepie clung to Mother's waist, uncertain of what was happening, but able to feel the negative vibes.

They were all waiting for Raz to confess to his crime, for him to say 'yep, it was me; I was using my freaky, evil powers to cause destruction and mayhem again'. He stared down at the ground, fists clenched. There was some kind of beetle thing crawling near Dad's boot. Dad crushed it without a second thought.

It wasn't like Raz didn't know that he'd done a bad thing. He knew he deserved to be punished for breaking the window, and for all those other times that he'd unintentionally destroyed things. But what about all those times that Dad made him run through some insane acrobatics routine that was more difficult than anything Frazie or Dion had to do? What about those times when Dad would let everyone else take a break while he was forced to practice until he was exhausted? There were days when Raz didn't even so much as think about using his powers and he was still treated as though he had done something wrong. The old resentment welled up in his chest again and Raz couldn't tell if he was on the verge of tears or if he was about to start screaming.

Raz didn't want to scream or cry, so he thought it would be best for him to just bite the bullet and own up to what he'd done. He was honestly surprised that Mirtala hadn't already done it for him. As a matter of fact, she was being uncharacteristically quiet. What was up with that? Was she actually feeling guilt for her part in this mess?

A sob. Then, another. It wasn't coming from him. His sister's shoulders were shaking, her breath hitching, and tears were running down her face. Both Raz and Dad were caught off guard. "It…It was my fault!"she choked out before burying her face in her hands and bursting into tears.

Dad could handle Raz's stubbornness, his anger, and his occasional threats to run away forever without batting an eye. But Mirtala's tears- even when they were just tears and not full blown sobs- hit some point deep within Dad's heart that was entirely undefended. Mom usually had to punish Mirtala on those rare occasions that she actually got caught misbehaving, simply because Dad folded so quickly when faced with his youngest daughter.

To be fair, Mirtala was an excellent crier. Her sobs were just the right pitch, not shrieky, but not too low to be obviously fake, and her voice would quiver and break at exactly the right moments. It helped that she was a pretty crier too. Snot did not run down her nose, and her face would turn a pleasant shade of pink instead of bright red.

The tears were, of course, fake. Dion had once bitterly called them crocodile tears, and Mirtala would usually use them to either avoid punishment or to get something she wanted (although she used them less frequently now that she was older and more cunning). They were darn good fakes, Raz had to admit. Her cries were absolutely heart-breaking to listen to, and she sounded genuinely racked with guilt. He wanted to go over there and hug her, and to tell her that it was going to be alright and that she didn't have to take the blame for him.

Dad had beaten him to the punch. He was kneeling down, holding her gently by the shoulders, all sternness gone. A strange jealousy flared up at the sight. Dad would never react that way to him being that upset. Why did she get away with everything while he got disciplined for minor missteps? Raz shook the thoughts away. Mirtala, for whatever reason, had decided to use her 'crocodile tears' to help him out today, and he shouldn't complain about that. There was no way that Dad would truly believe that Mirtala had broken that window on her own, but perhaps her act would soften him enough so that he'd punish Raz less harshly than he would've had she done nothing at all, and that alone was something to be grateful for.

Dad was looking up helplessly at Mom, unable to get a comprehensible sentence out of his crying daughter. She sighed, not totally unaffected but certainly more resistant than Dad was to Mirtala's usual tricks. "Raz, watch your brother for a while," she said, her soft, accented voice a stark contrast to all the crying.

Raz took his youngest brother's hand without a word and led him away from the scene. Queepie was sniffling, probably upset by all the recent drama. "C'mon little buddy," he said, trying to sound upbeat. "Let's go play tiddly-winks."

* * *

The next few hours were spent setting up the tent and booths. Raz kept his head down and worked without using his powers, not wanting to get in trouble twice in one day. He didn't see his father or sister again that afternoon. Mom had told him, when she had come back to fetch Queepie, that she and Dad had managed to get the whole story out of Mirtala and that Dad was still thinking about exactly what punishment he was going to give them both.

"Sweet boy," she had said, stroking his hair. "Why would you play with those knives? You know better than that." Raz hadn't responded, guilt over disappointing his mother rendering him silent.

He didn't get a chance to speak with Mirtala again until after everything had been set up. He'd seen her when they'd stopped for dinner, but Mom had made them sit apart, to prevent any further mischief from either of them.

He'd been sitting outside the caravan that he and his siblings shared, early in the evening. Only Queepie was inside, sound asleep. She had greeted him as she usually did, by questioning what he was doing. "Why are you sitting out here? It's cold."

It was unseasonably cold for mid-April, but it didn't really bother Raz tonight. "I was waiting for you," he replied. He picked at a loose thread on his shirt, in an attempt to appear nonchalant.

A failed attempt apparently. "Jeez, don't you start crying. I've had enough of that today." She pushed past him into the caravan; making no special effort to be quiet (Queepie could sleep like the dead). He followed her in, sitting on the bed that she and Frazie shared. Mirtala was kneeling beside the bed, searching for something underneath of it.

"Are you in trouble?" Raz blurted out as she pulled out an old shoebox that had been painted bright pink. "Is Dad really mad at you?"

Mirtala put the shoebox on the bed and gave Raz a long, level stare. "He's kicking me out of the family," she said, her tone too deadpan to be serious. "I'm packing my stuff right now."

"C'mon Mirtala."

"Dad was Dad. He's gonna lecture us both and then he's gonna make us clean the stalls out for a week or something." She sat down across from him on the bed, the contents of the shoebox rattling from the impact. "It's not a big deal. Stop being so upset."

Raz let out a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He had been worried that Dad would've treated Mirtala as badly as he treated him, and that she would've wound up with a much worse punishment than she had expected. It was an irrational worry, even he knew that. Dad treated Raz the way he did because of what Raz was, not because of the things that he did. "What did you tell him? He doesn't really think that you broke that window, does he?"

"Oh, I never said that I broke it. I told him that you caught me messing with the knives, and that the window got broken because you were trying to take them away from me." She grinned, proud of herself for coming up with such a clever lie. "I did my best to make you seem like a responsible older brother."

Dang. That was actually a really good story. Raz wished that he could make-up believable lies on the spot half as well as Mirtala could. "Thanks," he said, "you didn't have to do that." He frowned. "I'm sorry that you're probably gonna have to clean up after the elephants with me, though."

Mirtala shrugged and took the lid off of the shoebox. "That just means that you owe me," she said as she scanned the box's contents. "And I think you know what I want."

Raz pulled off his rough work gloves, flexing the fingers of his left hand. "Can I at least pick the color?" he asked as he scratched off the remains of a glittery plum polish still on his index finger with his thumb.

"No way. You always pick a boring neutral that looks bad." After a moment of consideration, she picked up a bottle of sapphire nail polish. It was a cheap, drugstore brand like all the rest. They never lasted long before chipping off, but it usually looked nice while it lasted. Mirtala unscrewed the top as Raz offered her his left hand. She got to work, starting with his thumb, and then using the leftover polish on his pinky before dipping it back into the pot for a second coating. He was the only one she could do this with- Frazie's nails were too short, Queepie couldn't be trusted not to ingest the polish, and Dion would not allow Mirtala to bring 'that girly shit' anywhere within fifty feet of him. Raz personally thought his older brother's attitude was stupid. They all wore gloves ninety-percent of the time, so it wasn't like anybody would know that his nails were painted.

Mirtala worked quickly, finishing the rest of the fingers on his left hand within three minutes. The polish, though not yet dry, was flawlessly applied, with no bubbles or patches marring the coated nail. Though the appearance of his nails was not all that important to him in the grand scheme of things, the color Mirtala was using been a good choice, as the dark blue contrasted nicely with the deep golden hue of his skin.

Raz gave her his other hand, careful not to smear the still drying polish on his left hand. Their hands were similar, his fingers a bit wider, and her nails painted lavender with gold flecks, but they both had that extra finger between the pinky and the middle finger, a physcial trait that all of the Aquato siblings had inherited from their father. The proper term was polydactyly- Mom had helped them look it up in one of her many books. Raz had then asked her to look up information on the other thing that he and his siblings had inherited from their father. Mom had changed the subject to something else.

The siblings sat in comfortable silence, with only the din from outside and Queepie's soft snores filling the air between them. Mirtala suddenly stopped, frowning. She brought the hand that wasn't holding the brush to her head. "Stop it," she ordered, her dark eyes narrowing.

Raz immediately pulled back, ceasing all attempts to read his sister's mind. He'd only wanted to know why Mirtala had tried to take the blame for him and hadn't been sure that she would have given him an honest answer if he had asked her outright. For all that she enjoyed irritating other people with constant questions; she was awfully reluctant to answer those directed towards herself, and very good at deflecting with counter-questions and teasing. "Sorry," he said, barely stopping himself from rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "How'd you know I was trying to read your mind?"

"I always know when you try to do that."

"Yeah, but how?"

"I don't know. I just do."

Hope fluttered in his chest. "Do you feel something? In your head? Like, a tingling?"

Mirtala didn't answer, choosing to resume painting his nails. Raz let a moment pass, then said "You know…if you…woke up one day, and were suddenly psychic, you would tell me, right?"

"If I woke up psychic I wouldn't tell anyone. Ever."

Those words hurt more than all the teasing, pinching, and pranks that Mirtala had inflicted upon him within the nine years of her life combined. Raz had always secretly wanted one of his siblings to share his gift, simply so that he wouldn't feel so alone. It was isolating, being a lone psychic, with nobody around that could truly understand why he couldn't just ignore what he believed to be a crucial part of himself. He was certain that things would've been different if he hadn't been born the only psychic. And…if he was being honest, he would've wanted it to be Mirtala, more than any of his other siblings. Dad would never have stood a chance against him and Mirtala as a united front, and he'd be able to practice alongside her more openly than he could now on his own.

Raz's shoulders slumped as he stared down at his nails, watching the pale pink be replaced by the sapphire coat. Was being psychic really that bad? Was he really such a freak? Mirtala had always been supportive, in her own, unique way. But maybe she was actually scared for him, in the same way that Mom was. Mom had always been fiercely protective of him, more so than any of her other children. New hires to the circus were vetted strictly by her personally, and she never let any of them alone with him until they had her complete trust. She wouldn't explain why, not entirely anyway, and Raz could always sense that fear she wouldn't talk about in the back of her mind. Maybe Mirtala had picked up on it too.

Mirtala opened her mouth, and then closed it, her eyes downcast. She finished painting his nails, the silence that was once comfortable now heavy between them. She held onto his hand for a few seconds. "Ask me the question," she said, quietly and gently. "I won't mess with you. I promise."

Raz briefly considered asking her to explain why she would keep her psychic abilities a secret, if she were to find that she had them. He discarded that thought immediately, uncertain if he really wanted hear that answer just yet. "Why did you do it?" he asked. "You probably wouldn't have gotten punished at all if you kept quiet. Dad didn't catch you playing with the knives."

She blew on the wet nails, delaying her answer. "I didn't want to see him get angry at you again. I hate how it is between you and Dad," she replied, letting go of Raz's hand. "It's like watching a lit fuse burning toward a bunch of dynamite."

Raz brought his right hand up in front of his face. It looked just a nice as the other one. "I'm sorry," he whispered, carefully putting his hands on his lap.

"It's not your fault!" Mirtala said hastily. "At least, it's not all your fault." She screwed the lid back onto the pot. "He's harder on you than the rest of us. And it isn't fair."

Hearing someone else say the thing that he'd always thought out loud was a huge relief. It wasn't just him being a whiny brat, as Dion would say, or just in his head, as Frazie claimed. He was about to thank Mirtala when she held up a finger. "But," she continued. "Maybe he has a good reason for it. I…" She glanced around, not wanting anyone else to hear what she was about to say next. "I think he's also psychic. One time…" She bit her lip, her eyes sliding towards the door. "One time after a show, these three drunk guys were harassing Frazie, and I saw him just…pick one of them up for a second. Psychically. Just for a second, but it was enough to scare them away. I mean, maybe he just picked them up normally, it was pretty dark but…"she trailed off, the story making her uneasy.

Raz nodded. He'd suspected that himself, and if he ever confirmed those suspicions he was going to march straight up to Dad and…do something. Raz hadn't planned that far ahead.

Mirtala fiddled idly with the bottle of nail polish. "Do you remember when we were headed to Minnestoa and were supposed to cut through Iowa? But we went around through Illinois and Wisconsin instead?" She opened the shoebox, but didn't put the polish back in it. Her fist was clenched around the bottle. "Do you remember why?"

"Those kids got kidnapped."

"Those psychic kids got kidnapped. By that trafficking ring." Though her voice was steady, her knuckles were white from gripping the polish so tightly. "Maybe Dad should ease up on you a little, but you need to be more careful too. Like, don't be such a show-off."

"I'm not a show-off!" Mirtala raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Okay, maybe sometimes. But not all the time! And not in public!"

"You levitated my tiara off my head during our last performance!"

"Oh yeah. You were so mad." Raz laughed at the memory. Mirtala crossed her arms and glared at him. "Oh come on! It was funny!" Although Dad hadn't thought so. He had looked at Raz in the same manner that his sister was looking at him now.

"My point is," Mirtala said, "is that you both need to stop being such stubborn jackasses and talk it out, or something." She put the box on her lap. "If you guys don't do something about it soon, one of you is gonna just explode and do something stupid. I don't know about everyone else, but I do not want to get caught up in all that drama."

Raz winced. "Is it really that bad?"

Mirtala sighed and nodded. They both stared at the pink shoebox, as though it could provide a solution to this complicated situation. It couldn't. "What do you want me to do?" Raz asked. "I can't just pretend that I'm not psychic."

"I know that. And I have no idea what you should do about it," she replied, frustrated that she couldn't give a smart answer to this question. "Maybe if you try harder, Dad will try harder? Hmm, but it's not really fair to pin it all on you." She leaned over the side of the bed and put the box back under it. "I just know that me crying won't get you out of trouble next time."

"Yeah. I bet if you do that too many times Dad will become immune."

"I can't afford to lose my weapons," Mirtala said, nodding solemnly.

Well, that conversation had answered his question about his sister's motives in helping him out, but unfortunately it had also opened up a whole new can of worms. What could he do? Mirtala seemed to think that talking it out with Dad was a possibility, but he doubted that she (or anyone else in their family) realized the extent of the disdain that Dad held for Raz. How could he 'talk it out' with someone who may or may not want him dead?

He'd have time to think about that later. Right now, he had a more pressing concern. He pointed at her accusingly. "You said a bad word earlier."

Mirtala did not deny it. "I did," she said, her nose in air. "But only to emphasize my point. I know all of the swearwords, and I know exactly when and when not to use them. Because I'm a lady."

Mom would have a fit if she heard Mirtala gloating about that. But Mom wasn't here, so… "You don't know all of them, I bet."

"I do."

"Do you know the s-word?"

"Of course. And no, I'm not going say it out loud, so don't even ask."

Raz hadn't intended to. "What about the b-words?"

"I know those."

"The c-word?"

"I know both of those too."

There were two c-words? That was troubling. "What about the f-word?"

"Everybody knows what the fuck-word is, Raz." She gasped, slapping her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide. "I…I didn't mean to say that!" They both glanced back at Queepie, who was mercifully still asleep and blissfully unaware that his sister had just used an illicit word.

Raz looked back at Mirtala, smirking. "Some lady you are!" he teased before bursting into immature giggles.

"I didn't mean to say it!" Mirtala repeated, her cheeks pink from embarrassment. "It just slipped out! Stop laughing! You better not ruin your nails!"

Raz stifled his laughter and looked down at his hands. "I think they're dry now, actually."

"Oh. Good," Mirtala said pleasantly before reaching back behind her and smacking him with a pillow.

"Hey!" She pulled back to hit him again, but this time he caught it. A small tug of war ensued, both participants laughing as they tore the pillow nearly in half. The poor pillow would have become two pillows had the caravan door not suddenly opened.

Raz instantly let go of his end of the pillow, the nervousness from earlier returning in full force. His father was standing in the doorway, letting in the night air and chilling the room. He had the strangest expression on his face, not his typical glower, but certainly not a happy look. Raz wasn't sure how to describe it. His brows, normally drawn together severely, were relaxed, and his eyes lacked their usual hardness. He looked…kind of sad, actually, like he was remembering something that he had lost long ago and couldn't get back. Raz had never seen his father look that vulnerable, and it made him feel oddly uncomfortable.

The expression didn't linger on his father's face, and he was soon back to his normal grim self. Dad wouldn't mince words- he had come to give them their punishment and everybody (except for Queepie) knew it. "The canvas on some of the caravans needs to be repaired. As punishment for your behavior today, you both will be responsible for fixing it, beginning first thing tomorrow morning."

That was it? They just had to sew up some canvas? Raz's mouth dropped open in shock. Were they really getting off that easy? He glanced over at Mirtala, expecting her to be as surprised as he was, but nope, it was just business as usual for her.

Dad wasn't done with them just yet. "Mirtala," he began, looking down at her. "I better never, ever, catch you, or hear about you touching those knives again. They are not toys, and you could have hurt yourself. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Dad!" she replied, her tone almost chipper. "I'm really sorry! I swear it won't happen again!" She beamed, pure sugary sweetness, and Raz grudgingly had to admit that she was cute. Dad tried to resist, but he couldn't, and he wound up smiling back at her.

"I know you won't." The smile was gone by the time he turned to Razputin. For a long, long moment, Dad just stared at him, long enough for Raz to wonder if this was part of his punishment. Then, Dad said "It's good that you tried to stop your sister," and the compliment was so unexpected that Raz barely heard the second part of the sentence, "but you should've woken Gabi up."

Raz could only nod in acknowledgement, sheer disbelief making speech impossible.

"You two should go to bed. You'll need to be up early." And with that, he turned, having said what he needed to say.

"Goodnight Dad!" Mirtala chirped before he could close the door.

Dad paused, the door only open a fourth of the way. "Goodnight kids," he said back, and then the door closed.

Raz looked at Mirtala. Mirtala looked at Raz. Queepie snored on. "Did that happen? Or did I dream that?" Raz had never gotten off so lightly for disobeying before ever in his life.

Mirtala responded to this query in a predictable fashion. "That is a pretty weak punishment. For Dad, anyway," she said as Raz rubbed the spot on his arm where she had pinched him. "I really outdid myself, didn't I?"

Dad's strange expression flashed in Raz's mind, and he had to wonder if there had been something other than Mirtala's wiles that had earned them both Dad's leniency. He had no idea what that could possibly be. The only thing about his Dad's past that he knew for certain was that his entire family had been murdered by a rival psychic family that had worked in his old cirus. They had spent so much time at odds with each other that it had never really occurred to Raz to ask for more details about the deceased half of his family beyond how they died. Perhaps Mirtala had a point about this whole talking it out thing after all.

"Hey. Get off." The demand brought Raz out of his thoughts. Mirtala had pulled out her pajamas and was staring at him expectantly. Raz got up, keeping his back turned as his sister changed out of her pink, silk tumbling clothes and into her equally pink pajamas. Figuring that he ought to do the same, Raz took his own pajamas out of the drawer and flicked off the light before getting changed himself.

He was about to settle in next to Queepie when Mirtala spoke. "You still owe me!" Her high-pitched voice sounded louder in the dark. "Since I did way better with Dad than we thought I was going to!"

Raz was too tired to argue with her. "Can it wait until morning?" he mumbled as he pulled the quilt over his body.

"It can wait until you're a Psychonaut. I've got a whole list of things that you're going to buy me with that top secret agent money that you're gonna be making."

Raz rolled his eyes. Typical Mirtala.


End file.
